


gingerbread hearts and empty stockings

by penguin_parties



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, a few mentions of bullying, well its kid fic for the first half
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 22:38:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1112347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penguin_parties/pseuds/penguin_parties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's a little bit lonely and Niall's a little bit of a guardian angel. They're brought together by the magic of Christmas. Or perhaps it's simply fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	gingerbread hearts and empty stockings

**Author's Note:**

> For once I couldn't think of a good title or a good summary. Oh boy.

Harry was brought up in a family where Christmas was glorified as the greatest event of the year, the celebration that topped them all, the most important day one could experience in an entire year of experiences. Harry and his sister were experts on speaking to the Santa Claus at the mall (even though they know he's one of the many fake Santas sent out to report back to the real fat guy clad in red) by the time they were four. They had their lists prepared mid-November, and always had their letters on the way to the North Pole before most of the other kids were even poking chocolates out of the little boxes on their advent calendars. Candy canes and gingerbread were daily snacks for the Styles family, Christmas carols flew out of their throats like tiny partridges, and they may as well take up gift wrapping as a profession. Basically, the heat was turned up during Christmas season, both literally and metaphorically.

But the most important part of it all to Harry, was wishing for a very special present to be delivered by Santa Claus himself. His mother always told him that no matter what a child asked for, if they were good people and helped and cared for others and _deserved_ a gift, they shall find it waiting for them under a big pine tree Christmas morning.

The information Mrs. Styles shared with her son every year continuously checked out, as Santa always managed to bring Harry what he wanted; a toy truck when he was three, a play karaoke machine when he was six, and a Walkman when he was eight. But the Christmas before Harry is to turn ten, a rather difficult gift to deliver tops his list. At the age of nine, with deep dimples and ears he has yet to grow into, Harry asks Santa Claus for a friend.

School seems to be getting harder. Not only is maths becoming more and more troublesome with the introduction of multiplication and division, but Harry's class is generally a lot more interested in pointing out his flaws and making fun of them and excluding him from games and avoiding him at recess. He's getting to be increasingly lonely, but he knows that his idol from the North Pole is always there for him, so he decides he's going to request some company be granted to him this year.

Despite his mother's warnings that "Santa can't wrap _people_ up and give them to other people for Christmas," and suggestions as to what else Harry can ask for, he possesses great confidence in the power of his favourite jolly old fellow. And that's how he finds himself out in the yard of his house, dressed up in more than two layers and really thick socks and sitting on the wooden bench beside the front door.

Emerald eyes search the burnt sky for a blurred red light that navigates the night or a shadow crossing in front of the bleached moon like they've seen in movies, or any sort of sign of a magical entity spreading joy all over the world. There hasn't been anything yet except for a lost bird and the blinking lights of an airplane and Harry is beginning to lose hope.

"Hello."

Harry startles at the sound, his eyes darting away from the stars and back to Earth, where he sees a blond boy about his age and just as bundled up as him standing near the gate that separates his yard from the rest of the world. The boy stares at him, curiosity painting his body language, and Harry stares back, unsure of what to do, waiting for the stranger to either say something else, or run off.

"What are you doing?" the boy asks, his accent strong and out of place. Harry notices he has crooked teeth and cheeks that still hang slightly heavy from baby fat.

Harry doesn't say anything for a moment, contemplates whether to reply or hurry into the safety of his home.

"Um...," he finally begins to mumble, but hesitates. All the kids in his class have started saying silly things like Santa isn't real, and the parents put the presents under the tree and eat the cookies and fill the stockings. Harry doesn't believe them, but they'll make fun of anyone who disagrees. What if this stranger thinks he's stupid? "I'm...I'm waiting for Santa Claus."

To Harry's relief, the boy nods at his answer, understanding. He looks up at the moon, and maybe asks for some courage or guidance like Harry does sometimes, before asking, "May I join you?"

Harry's heart lurches in his chest, eager for some company because no one ever wants to sit with him or talk to him or anything, really. He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out, so he settles for nodding rapidly, green eyes wide.

The boy grins as a thanks, and then elegantly hops over the metal gate, wrapping a gloved hand around the bar, and then kicking his legs up and over it. Harry watches as he strides closer and closer, hands in his coat pockets, and then sits down in the space next to him on the bench. He can't help but see how pretty the boy is up-close. It's hard to make out, but it looks like his eyes are blue and Harry imagines they glitter like the intricate designs of ice that Jack Frost casts upon his bedroom window overnight.

"I'm Niall." The boy looks at him, smiling and giving Harry another look at his adorably slanted front teeth for just a split second.

"My name's Harry," Harry replies shyly, nibbling on his bottom lip and snuggling deeper into his jacket to escape the interested stare Niall is giving him.

"You believe in Santa Claus?" he asks.

"Yes. I do."

"Me too."

This reveal brightens Harry up, and he admits, "Everyone in my class makes fun of me for it."

Niall frowns at that. "You shouldn't let them. That's not nice."

Harry blushes, overwhelmed by the fact that someone is actually showing interest in him, someone his age and someone who doesn't seem like they would bully him. He doesn't answer, just resumes scanning the charcoal sky as he was before Niall came along.

"What school do you go to?" Niall questions a moment later.

"Patriot's," Harry responds, tries not to hope that someone as nice as Niall just-so-happens to go to the same school as him.

"Oh," Niall says, and he sounds disappointed. "I go to Mary Wagner. But if I went to Patriot's I would make sure no one made fun of you, ever."

Harry is glowing by that point, in disbelief that someone wants to protect him. He must be dreaming. He must be so tired that he's hallucinating. It's too good to be true.

"Thank you," he says, and he means it.

Niall only nods and they both dip into another few moments of silence, eyes twinkling as they roam the patterns and images formed by the stars above them. They are only children who are still ignorant to the realism of the glowing dots staring down at them. They still wonder what's out there and if people live on stars and if, perhaps, stars are the souls of their late family members, watching over them, their eyes poked into the thin fabric of the night to peer at the little boys they've left on Earth. Their beliefs are yet to be tainted by the curse of science.

Harry enters a trance, pondering if the world he knows is simply inside a box and the stars he sees above him are air holes stabbed into the cardboard to keep its innards alive like some sort of pet. The airs tightens around him as this thought traipses about his imagination, and it becomes a little difficult to inhale the frosty air.

"I like your hair," Niall speaks again and it startles Harry out of his churning mind.

Harry lifts a hand, soft and small and free of the wrinkles of time past, and grabs for a chocolate curl that wriggles out from the hem of the beanie he had pulled over his ears to keep them warm. He concludes that his hair is still the same colour and texture and shape as it was when all his classmates were making fun of it, how could Niall possibly like it?

"Not many people do," Harry responds to Niall's compliment, and he can't help the disappointment and humility laced around his words.

"Well, sometimes people have trouble finding the beauty in things. Like, my mum tells me that two people fall in love because where other people find flaws, they find only another feature to love about each other," Niall says, looking at the boy next to him with pride and confidence in his words.

"My mum says nobody's perfect, other people just learn to appreciate and accept the little things about someone that makes them different. She told me that's what love is," Harry replies softly.

"Our mums are pretty smart, aren't they?" Niall asks rhetorically.

Harry nods, because his mum _is_ the one who helps him with his math homework and knows exactly what to do whenever he gets hurt. She doesn't have a job and Harry doesn't know what she studied in university, or if she even finished it, but he knows she's really intelligent.

"What'd you ask for from Santa Claus?" Niall asks then, his words catching on his teeth and making a little whistle sound when he says an 's'.

Harry looks at his boots as they dangle just a couple inches from the pavement, ashamed of his answer and the connotations that come with it.

"I asked for a slingshot," Niall says, seemingly to comfort Harry a bit and coax him into sharing his own request. "There's always lots of tin cans in the pantry, and I want to set them up on a crate and get really good at shooting them off."

"Remember you have to eat the stuff inside before you try that, yeah?" Harry says, because one of Gemma's boyfriends came over and tried to do that once and he got microwaveable spaghetti and meatballs all over the kitchen and Mrs. Styles was not happy at all.

"Oh right!" Niall gasps. "Thanks for reminding me."

Harry grins in response, and finally he's beginning to feel more comfortable.

"I asked Santa Claus for a friend," he says. It may have taken a few seconds of hesitation, but at least he's let it out now.

Niall is silent and he looks sad because of Harry's answer. He frowns and purses his lips and his eyebrows draw closer while he trails his gaze over the houses that line the other side of the street.

"Well," he says then and turns to smile at the boy beside him, "I'm sure Santa won't let you down. As long as you've been good all year that is."

"I have!" Harry insists, nodding up-and-down rapidly.

"You've been doing good in school?" Niall raises his eyebrows.

"Straight A's!" Harry boasts.

"You've done all your chores every day?"

"Even when I was sick!"

"You're nice to everyone?"

"Always!"

"You haven't even...," Niall leans closer, slowly filling up Harry's personal bubble, until suddenly he throws his hands out and his fingers frantically scrabble all up and down his sides, smiling when Harry begins laughing and wiggles away. "...gotten into any tickle fights?"

Harry pushes Niall's hands away, beaming even as he rolls his eyes.

"Those aren't bad!"

"Alright, you got me." Niall laughs and fakes being sheepish before nuzzling a fist into the top of Harry's head.

"Hey!" the brunet cries, giggling, and shoves him away.

They both sit in silence again, just smiling to themselves and sometimes exchanging playful glances and funny faces. As the big hand on the clock in Harry's dining room gradually nears the 2, Niall stands up and turns to say goodbye.

"I live at number forty-seven. Just a few houses down that way." Niall points to his left, and Harry memorizes this information because Niall is really nice and a lot better than the kids he goes to school with altogether.

"Thank you for sitting with me," Harry replies shyly, looking up at Niall from beneath his eyelashes and a few stray curls.

"Of course, Harry." Niall leans forward so their faces are at the same level as he says this and his voice is so sincere it makes Harry want to dance around. But then he begins walking towards the gate and in the direction he pointed out moments ago, throwing over his shoulder a grin and a, "Merry Christmas!"

"You too!" Harry nearly forgets to shout back.

He waits until the figure has vanished from his sight, disappearing behind a large hedge in front of the fence a few houses away, before he looks up at the sky one last time. Towards the moon, who has just witnessed the beginning of a beautiful relationship between a lonely brunet and a foreigner with hair the same colour as a halo, he blows a kiss, and then he stealthily retreats back into his home and into bed.

The next morning, Harry finds a silly, dumb Nerf Gun waiting for him where he expected a friend, and he tries not to cry because his mum and his dad and his sister are all so happy and elated with their own gifts. Strangely, he just really wants to see Niall and let him cheer him up. But he's stuck here opening presents he doesn't want and fooling around with a plastic toy he didn't ask for.

A few hours later, with all the ripped wrapping paper in the garbage and many new items scattered on the floor, Harry's mum calls to him from the door. Curls and emerald eyes and big ears and all come rushing towards the cold draft seeping in from outside, and behind his mum and just outside the threshold, Harry sees a downright angel waving at him.

"Niall!" he cries and grabs his jacket off its hook and slips his mittens on and drags the boy outside to talk to him. "Did you get your slingshot?"

Niall nods delightedly.

"Wanna see?" he asks, and Harry gives him an excited and affirmative answer.

He draws a y-shaped, smooth stick of wood from inside his coat, and proudly points out his initials carved in the stick. He then demonstrates his shooting skills using a small red ball and the wreath hanging on Harry's front door.

"What about your Christmas present?" Niall asks after, looking at the boy he met only hours before with concern and all around them as if someone else had been standing with them the whole time and he hadn't noticed.

"I got a Nerf gun," Harry replies and the way his posture sags and his head hangs tells Niall that he's not at all impressed with Santa's actions this year.

Niall sighs and places a hand on the curve of his shoulder, trying to comfort him a little.

"I guess there are some things even Santa can't deliver," Niall remarks, and he sounds almost as disappointed as Harry feels. "I'm sorry, Harry."

But then it dawns on Harry, and he looks up so fast the snow and the sky become one.

"Wait," the brunet says quietly, as if he thought if he spoke too loud his revelation would be shattered. "Niall?"

"Yeah?" the Irish boy replies, and when they look at each other, Harry notices how Niall's bright blue eyes are refreshing to see in a world dyed only grey and white.

"Are _we_  friends?" Harry asks, his voice fragile and absolutely desperate for a positive answer.

"I'd say so." Niall nods as if it were a simple question, for the realization has not come upon him yet. He offers up a small smile in the direction of his new friend, but it doesn't shine nearly half as much as the grin that breaks from its seed and grows proud and tall on Harry's face when he hears this response.

"Doesn't that make _you_ my Christmas present?" Harry sounds the happiest he's been in years, his voice chiming like metal snowflakes falling upon glass.

At first, Niall looks confused. Until understanding sweeps gradually over his face like clouds clearing the canvas of the sky to make room for the glow of the sun upon the fields of land and water beneath.

"Yeah, I guess it does." Niall laughs and he sounds genuinely happy, his vocal cords snapping rapidly together like elastic bands to create a throaty chuckle, and Harry doesn't know if there was such thing as 'love at first laugh,' but he knows it's just happened to him.

Harry doesn't usually have a lot of self-confidence or courage, but suddenly he finds himself leaping towards the blond beside him, wrapping his arms around the boy's neck and pulling him into a tight, grateful hug. Niall, the amazing lad he is, just slides his own arms around the younger boy's waist and continues to giggle into Harry's ear.

Then Niall hears the brunet whimpering into his shoulder and his laughter stops short as he pulls out of the hug and looks at his new friend who has fresh tears falling down his cheeks and even more brewing in his green eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asks with urgency, using his mittens to wipe the salty streaks from Harry's face.

"I'm just so happy that out of all his options, Santa gave me _you_ , the bestest friend of the batch." Harry shrugs, letting Niall pet at his cheeks and play with his hair to comfort him. He smiles weakly and looks at the ice on the ground, blushing from his confession.

Niall doesn't say anything, just tugs the brunet into another warm embrace.

**Ten Years Later**

Harry is, quite frankly, surprised at how many people ended up coming to his mother's Christmas Party, considering it was literally occurring on Christmas Day. He had had to dress up nicely and help prepare food and then clean the house and set up the decorations. And then he was forced to greet a bunch of older strangers and entertain people he's only seen at the grocery market when his mum stopped to exchange short greetings. But it really wasn't too bad since Niall had been there by his side the whole time, putting him at ease with the squeeze of his hand and a secretive smile, the seams of his lips withholding jokes to be told later when the guests were gone and they could speak freely.

Over the years, Harry's friendship with Niall only grew and blossomed, even though the blond never turned out to be some sort of magical elf sent from the North Pole or a guardian angel fallen from the heavens just for him. Although it was slightly disappointing that his best friend didn't have special powers that finished his homework for him or cleaned his room, it comforted Harry to know that he managed to make a friend without the help of magic working to pull them together.

And maybe over the years an even stronger, more powerful force was building in Harry's gut and heart and head. A force that longed for a little more than a brotherly bond. But Harry would never admit to it, harboring the fondness for a certain blond in the secret nooks and crannies and crevasses of his heart.

Harry's in the middle of talking to a relative when he notices that his friend has disappeared from his side. Typically, this isn't an odd occurrence because his aunt's ramblings about the recklessness of their generation can get boring fairly quick. But Harry can't see his BFF at the food table, talking to his mum, on the dance floor, or in the lineup for the only bathroom, so he finishes the conversation quickly and goes on a search mission for Niall.

He finds the blond at the very same bench they met on all those years ago. He takes a minuteand thinks about how he's changed since then. He's had braces to straighten his oddly angled teeth out, even though Harry had found his imperfect mouth unlimited amounts of endearing, and his face had slimmed as they grew older, giving him a chiseled facial structure a Vogue model might envy.

"You alright, mate?" he asks, shrugging on a jacket as he steps outside and breathes steam into the biting chill of the night.

Niall startles and his head snaps to look at Harry, obviously in deep thought before he was interrupted. His cornflower eyes soften when they register who has come to join him, and he manages a small grin in the direction of his closest friend.

"Doing okay," Niall replies, his voice gruff and gravelly from lack of use. Not only are the guests at the party all Harry's relatives and therefore practically strangers to the Irish lad, but they're all quite talkative, leaving very few spaces for anyone to fill in with their own voice.

Harry nods and plants his butt down on the bench. He's surprised a bit at the coldness of the wood against the bum of his jeans, but he doesn't move from his place. They both sit in silence for a bit, watching the small clouds, brightened by the flow of the glowing moon through their translucent form, float across the sky like many boats in the sea. The stars pierce through the clear parts of the night and sparkle like the gems they are, their reflections sparkling in the eyes of a blond and a brunet boy, young and wondering what their futures have in store for them.

"Remember how we met?" Niall asks, stll facing the moon.

"How could I forget?" Harry replies, laughing a little to himself.

Niall chuckles too. "We became friends by trading the wisdom of our mothers."

"Yeah." Harry smiles giddily, and then he pauses. "Funny how they seemed like experts on love when we were kids, and now they're both divorced and struggling as they search for something they'd easily found in the past."

"It's unfortunate," Niall sighs, thinking of his mother spending Christmas dinner with his brother's family. She's happy, but not as happy as she was before his parents' marriage turned sour.

Harry nods, and they both just think quietly to themselves for a moment, until Harry becomes curious.

"What'd you wish for this year?" He asks, because over the years he's begun to think that one doesn't have to ask Santa for an object specifically, they can just ask for good health or maybe a year of opportunities. There are endless possibilities.

"Well, it's a bit far-fetched." Niall's speech slows and he begins tapping his foot, almost nervously. He's avoiding eye contact entirely now and Harry cannot imagine why.

"And, ten years ago, mine wasn't?" he tries to lighten the mood, nudging his shoulder against Niall's.

"You found _me_ , didn't you?" Niall says and it comes out breathy and he smirks a bit when he finally looks up and blue and green clash.

Harry can't help but blush at that and he feels stupid because he's flattered by practically nothing at all. That's how things seem to go around Niall nowadays. But Harry really has to admit, and he has before, that finding Niall was possibly the best thing to ever happen to him.

"So what'd you wish for?" he persists, watching Niall blink up at his audience of distant suns, all looking down at him and endlessly encouraging him to come out with it.

Agonizingly slowly, Niall turns his head to examine the face of the boy next to him. He looks from his eyes to his nose to his cheeks to his forehead and, lastly, to his lips. And the whole world is turning agonizingly slowly now too, and Harry's heart freezes for a second and then beats faster than it ever has before when the blond starts leaning towards him. He can feel nerves tickling around his belly and _something_ is going to burst.

But then their lips meet and nothing's felt this right before. Harry can only think of the memories he's shared with Niall over the past decade, the pretty and the ugly and the simple and the strange, and he just feels like this is what it's all led up to. They mould together and Niall tastes like champagne and something sweet and Harry feels like nothing has ever matched his personality better. He brings his hands up beneath the curve of Niall's ear and his fingers slip into his hair despite how cold it's become just as the blond pulls away only to capture Harry's mouth again but from a different angle.

Harry's fingers soon become numb and he barely notices at first but then he starts to worry about frostbite so minutes later they have to lean away. Their separation is unwilling and it suddenly feels weird for Harry to be so far from Niall now and it's even weirder that a few inches feels too far.

"So," Harry whispers, because perfect moments always feel easily breakable to him, "I'm your Christmas present then?"

Niall laughs quietly for a moment, and then he reaches a hand up against Harry's cheek, running a thumb beneath his eye, trailing over his cheekbone. The look he gives him is the definition of fondness and Harry feels like he's melting even though it's below zero outside.

"You've always been my Christmas present," the blond finally answers and Harry blushes, although it's not obvious as the redness has been there since he stepped outside. That doesn't matter though because it seems like stepping outside is the best decision he's made in awhile.

Harry looks up to the moon as Niall pulls him into an embrace and, as he did a decade ago, presses his fingers to his lips and blows a kiss to its round face, before snuggling his face into the warm neck of the angel it only took him one Christmas to love.


End file.
